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Wednesday, July 14, 2010

APOLOGIES FROM GIL'S ALL FRIGHT DINER

Somehow with my mangled finger, I also mangled my sidebar to go to the bottom of my blog!

I am so low down with my high tech that the only way to restore my sidebar was to delete my post then re-post it.

But I lost all my friends' comments!!!

Elu is shaking his head at me, muttering, "Little Lakota embarass his ancestors by being smuck {he used an Apache name, but I translated it loosely for the ladies out there ..

it had something to do with a certain part of my anatomy changing places with another.}

I worked 11 hours straight again tonight, so my brain is a bit more rusty than usual. Gypsy just snickered. But Words Crafter, Donna, Raquel, and the one friend whose name escapes my weary brain but whose autographed copy of GIL'S ALL FRIGHT DINER I covet ... to you all I deeply apologize. Can you forgive me? Hope so.

Now for an instant replay of my post :

GIL'S ALL FRIGHT DINER.

On my cross-country travels, I certainly have stopped at my share of ... unique diners ... with clientel that bordered on DELIVERANCE meets THE ROAD WARRIOR

A. Lee Martinez has written a book that is part Christopher Moore and part SUPERNATURAL. Read it and you'll find yourself going out to find all the titles Mr. Martinez has written.

GIL'S ALL FRIGHT DINER is where H. P. Lovecraft meets his match in a trucker werewolf and a scientologist vampire.

Heading the delightfully eccentric cast are buddies Earl (aka the Earl of Vampires) and Duke (aka the Duke of Werewolves), who are looking for a place to eat as they drive through Rockwood, a small desert community besieged by cosmically weird stuff.

Soon after stopping at Gil's Diner, the pair help Loretta, the formidable owner-operator, fend off a zombie attack. Determined to do the right thing, the two supernatural misfits take on further challenges, such as trying to prevent Tammy (aka Mistress Lilith, Queen of the Night) and her loyal but dumb boyfriend, Chad, from ending the world.

The fast-paced plot is full of memorable incidents (e.g., a ghost and a vampire fall in love; a Magic 8-Ball becomes a message vehicle for trapped spirits, the menace of zombie cows ... you will never again hear "Mooo" in quite the same way) and such wonderful observations as ...

"this whole undead stuff sounds good on paper, but it ain't all it's cracked up to be."

Laughter. A rare commodity in fiction these days.

Despair. Inner pain. Sometimes you look around, and it seems the people all around you are drowning on those things. Sometimes you are one of those people.

We are writers are sometimes the only anchor a reader will have in a dark moment. We must remember that. Give them strength ... the strength that comes from laughter, from another hurting spirit in the dark that stops to help, to listen, to give a damn.**********************And a song for that thought (with captions for Indigo and other friends) :

10 comments:

Mea Culpa to my four friends who wrote and deserved better than to deep-sixed to save my sidebar.

Words Crafter, Donna, Raquel, and my friend whose name still slips from the teflon sides of my memory but whose autographed copy of "Gil's All Fright Diner" I covet -- I am sorrier than I have the words to convey.

If it is any consolation, all this typing has made my mangled finger a fitting punishment for my low tech skills. Roland

...I don't mean to laugh at the sake of your misfortune, Roland, but hearing of your injury, and the sidebar mis-hap, teamed with your post, not to mention my own recently completed ten hour marathon at Hell Inc., has left me in an exhausted, giggling state. I do hope your finger mends quickly. Writers with damaged digits is a recipe for disaster. Take care, buddy:)

No punishing the finger! You have to baby it so it heals! I can actually remember a little of what I wrote, but the important part is that when you win the lottery and build your pub. house, make sure to create a big room, with a giant fireplace, comfy chairs, appropriately shadowy, so we can come listen to you spin tales into the night. But you MUST take care of the finger. If you don't, you won't be able to type. Then, in the absence of your magical, mysterious words, the darkness creeps a little closer...I really hope you can get some rest. I wouldn't even be able to speak English, much less type with a gimp finger....

While getting ready for work, I couldn't help thinking that my repost wasn't as clever or well done as the original. Hmm, it seems that I write better at the end of a long, stressful, gremlin filled day than at the beginning of a fresh, shiny new one. Explains a lot and now I can rearrange my thinking. Thanks for the insight, even if it was unintentional!

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Written by the author who could very well turn out to be the new William Faulkner, Elliot Grace